Daddy's Girl

Growing up, I was most decidedly a Daddy's Girl. No questions about it. My dad had me convinced that I was a princess, because to him, I really was. We went on special trips together (mostly because I was the only child that wasn't in school yet), he patiently went through my 'drive-thru' repeatedly (because I was convinced that the exercise bike in my parents' bedroom looked like a drive-thru window), and he held my hand on walks.

My dad has been a constant source of support for everything I have ever tried to do. When I (finally) learned how to ride a bike, he went with me down to the church parking lot and just sat and watched as I practiced for hours at a time. He taught me to fish. He taught me to love the mountains. He taught me how to treat my mom well (which took me a long time to learn, unfortunately. Sorry, Mom!)

But those aren't the lessons that I cherish most.

When my dad and I would go on our trips together, it was usually to Tropic, the little town my dad grew up in. We would take a mountain road that wound through the trees, away from all civilization. One night, when I was probably seven or eight (and terrified of the dark), my dad pulled over to the side of the road. He told me to get out of the truck, and I felt terrified. As I climbed out, he helped me into the bed of the truck and told me to look at the sky. I don't think I have ever seen so many stars. While I don't remember the exact words he said to me, I do remember my dad telling me that seeing the stars in all their glory assured him that God was real, and that he must love us a lot for creating something so beautiful. Knowing that my dad, the smartest man I know, knew that God was real helped me to learn it, too.

Days before I left on my mission, my dad taught me another big life lesson. I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book or eating cereal (or both!), when my dad came in. He seemed serious. He sat down next to me, looked me in the eye, and said: "Lisa, if something happens to me or mom while you're gone, you need to stay on your mission. You need to know that it is part of God's plan. You need to not be angry about it." At that moment, I WAS angry! Why would he say that to me right before I was about to leave? Didn't he realize how hard it was to leave anyway?

As it turned out, something did happen. A lot of somethings, actually. Between cancer scares and open-heart surgery, there were plenty of times I wondered if it would be better for me to be home. But every time I tried to think about going home, my father's words came back to me:

"You need to stay on your mission. You need to know that it is part of God's plan. You need to not be angry about it."

I went through so many emotions as I worried about him, but anger was never one of them. 

I did stay, I do know it was God's plan, and I refused to get angry.

All because of the lessons I've been taught my entire life.

He wrote to me every week for my entire mission. He wrote about his love for my mom, feelings about his own mission, and his testimony. 

I guess you could say my dad is one of the "Greats".